The Single Mom's Second Chance

Evan still bore the scars from last time he’d crossed paths with Claire’s father.

“That could be her greatest disadvantage.” Brice talked to someone else for a moment, saying he’d be only a few more seconds—Kendall. “Most people don’t trust him. Use that against her.”

“I won’t run a smear campaign. Not against her.” They might not be on friendly terms, but the thought of bad-mouthing Claire publicly turned his stomach. He’d hurt her enough for one lifetime; he wouldn’t do it again.

An uncomfortable silence pulsed over the phone line before Brice said, “Don’t tell me, after all this time, you still have feelings for her?”

Evan straightened and ran his palm back and forth over his jean-clad thigh. “Let me rephrase that. I wouldn’t run a smear campaign against anyone. It doesn’t matter that it’s her. Claire and me? We don’t even belong in a sentence together. You know I let that go a long time ago.”

“Did you...?” His brother lowered his voice. “You never told her about Sesser, did you?”

Evan examined the calluses on his hands. Workman’s hands. Hands of a blue-collar man who did manual labor for a living and would never be good enough for a woman from Claire’s world. “She doesn’t need to know.”

“It’s probably for the best.”

“Not probably. It is—was. Everything is how it should be. Needs to be.” His voice sounded hollow to his own ears.

“We have to beat her. Understand? No matter what you think about her or if you believe she has good intentions about becoming mayor, it doesn’t matter. Sesser will find a way to use her in that position to gain a stronger hold on everything.” Brice summed up the reasons that he’d used to talk Evan into running in the first place. “You and I both know that’s what’ll happen. You’re running to take back some power from him—so we can build a dock and remove his monopoly. We can’t give Sesser another foothold.”

“I guess you’re right.” Evan kept clicking the pen.

“He’d ruin this town. He’d use her to turn this place into somewhere we wouldn’t want to live. You get that, don’t you?”

“True.” Click. Click. Click. “I wouldn’t put anything past Sesser.”

That was the reason Brice had urged him to run, but in truth, Evan had decided to go for it because he cared about the people in Goose Harbor and wanted to fight for their best interests. Maybe the two were the same thing. Brice was the more levelheaded brother—the one who turned ideas over and looked at something from every angle before deciding the best course of action. Whereas Evan often found himself in hot water because of split-second choices that he hadn’t stopped and thought through. He’d trust his brother on this. On everything.

The doorbell rang, making Evan slide off of the stool. “Someone’s here. I gotta go.”

“If it’s that boy for Laura again—”

“Don’t worry, papa bear, I’ve got it handled.” Evan clicked off and set his phone on the counter. Brice had a tendency to be overprotective with all the siblings, although he’d gained the right to be that way after protecting Evan, Andrew and Laura as best an eldest brother could during childhood.

Their seventeen-year-old sister had moved in with Evan soon after Brice and Kendall had become engaged last summer. Brice had tried to talk Laura into remaining at his place, assuring her it was fine to stay until he and Kendall returned from their honeymoon, but Laura had still chosen to head to Evan’s. Their parents’ house was no longer a fit environment for their teenage sister, not that it had ever been an ideal place to begin with. Growing up, Dad had physically abused Brice and had lobbed verbal assaults at the rest of them, Laura included. And their mother had become a bitter hoarder over the years, turning the small house into something of a health code hazard.

Besides, Evan’s home was bigger than Brice’s. His older brother lived in a cabin with one bedroom, which Laura had used while Brice had camped out in his office area for a couple months. Evan had three bedrooms and a fully finished basement. Laura had plenty of space to invite friends over or have parties here, where she hadn’t been able to be very social when she lived with Brice. And Evan never minded company. He thrived off it, whereas Brice was introverted, and even having their sister stay had been a strain on him.

It was better this way.

“Laura,” Evan hollered from the bottom of the stairs. “Are you expecting anyone?”

No answer. She probably couldn’t hear him over the loud Broadway tunes blasting from her room. She had aspirations for a life in the theater and was starring in the high school’s production of The Music Man this year. In the last few weeks he’d listened to her belting out “Goodnight, My Someone” and “Till There Was You” too many times to count.

Evan shook his head as he crossed to the front entryway. If it was the boy who’d been pursuing Laura since the summer, Evan would let him in. Laura was growing into a smart young woman; she could navigate her relationships without one of her brothers acting like a domineering father. He’d give her advice, of course—and stay within earshot—but he wouldn’t shove away a guy unless she asked him to.

However, Evan didn’t find a lanky teen on the other side of the door.

He found Claire Atwood.

Chapter Three (#u5499602c-5d7a-5416-a3fb-5e38a49ef682)

Claire bunched the handles of her purse together. Relaxed her fingers. Wound the straps around her hands again.

She took a glance over her shoulder as she shot out a long stream of air. Dark clouds scudded across the sky behind her, rolling closer. Good. If a blizzard started, it wouldn’t be fun to drive through, but they needed it. Perhaps the ground would stay cold enough that the fresh covering would stick around for the next two weeks, lasting for Valentine’s weekend.

Maybe she’d wear black and protest the holiday. Claire bit back a smile. Of course she’d never do something like that, especially when she was running for mayor, but it was still fun to imagine doing so.

She ran her fingers over her hair, trying to put back into place strands the wind had moved. If Evan didn’t answer before she counted to twenty, she’d head home. Because she shouldn’t have come here, shouldn’t have showed up without calling first. The website for his woodworking business probably had a Contact Me section where she could have located a phone number or an email address. No doubt Mrs. Clarkson or Kendall had his information, but asking either would have encouraged too many questions and unwanted speculation.

He probably wasn’t even home. Evan’s outgoing personality assured he had a busy social schedule, or at least Claire assumed so.

The door swung open and she sucked in a sharp breath.

Evan was home, all right.

Wearing worn jeans and a white T-shirt, he stood barefoot in the doorway, his lips slightly parted. “What are you—? Why are—? I don’t und—?” He shook his head and took a step to the side, sweeping his hand in a grand welcoming motion. “Come in. Please, it’s freezing out there.”

Right; go into his house. She hadn’t thought that far ahead. Had she thought at all? After dropping Alex off for a sleepover at his friend Xander’s, she had gotten into her car and turned it in the direction of Evan’s house. Despite the fact that they hadn’t spoken in years, she’d known she had to talk with him now and needed to do so before her courage waned.

Of course they’d talk inside—it was far too cold to stand outside for long. And thinking she was only dropping Alex off at his sleepover and driving back home, she hadn’t chosen to wear her warmest coat.

She hugged her purse to her stomach and stepped past Evan. He reached behind her and closed the door, bringing him a little closer as he did so. She backed away, finding his arm only inches from her side. His hair was tousled, as if he’d been tugging on it. A waft of the watermelon scent hit her and she turned away.

But she couldn’t turn off the images the smell made rush into her mind.

When they were teenagers, she used to love watching him work out a problem. Evan would sit at a table, transfixed on a piece of paper, gnawing on a pencil as he tried to sketch whatever he was planning to build next. Sometimes she had curled up beside him at the library or scratched his back as he worked. Other times she had slung her legs over his and hugged his side, her head burrowed into his chest as she memorized the steady pounding of his heartbeat while he stretched to reach the paper. Whenever he got stuck, he’d absentmindedly shove a hand into his hair and yank so that by the time his drawing was complete his hair would be sticking up in all directions.

She used to love how completely absorbed he became when he was dreaming, thinking, building. How he’d been the kind of person who threw his entire being into a project. They’d fantasized about attending college together, as a married couple, supporting each other as they took their time with their studies. Evan’s plan had been to study engineering, but she’d learned from Kendall that he had never ended up leaving Goose Harbor.

Shunning all thoughts of Evan Daniels had become such a habit for Claire that it was difficult to sort through the sudden onslaught of memories. They felt like talons, piercing her heart with burst after burst of pain. A tight coil of ache wrapped around her ribs. She pressed her palm into her collarbone.

Evan scooted so he was standing in front of her, then scratched the back of his neck. “You okay?”

“Fine.” Being ridiculous...but she was fine. For all intents and purposes, Evan was basically a stranger. She no longer knew the man before her, and there was no logical reason to be affected by him.

Still, it was dangerous to dwell on the past. “I’m fine,” she repeated.

“Good. That’s great.” He rocked on his feet and glanced at the impressive fire blazing in the stone fireplace in his family room. A log cracked and hissed. “I mean, I’m glad you’re fine.”

Claire hooked a chunk of her hair between her fingers and put it back behind her ear, casually scanning the layout of Evan’s home as she did so. The entryway was spacious, with a ceiling that reached to the second story. Behind a half wall there was a large family room with an overstuffed couch and two wide lounge chairs. Ten feet past the entryway lay the stairs; the railing and posts were clearly Evan’s handiwork. Beyond was a dining room and an open kitchen with gleaming appliances and a huge island. A set of white French doors led to another room that she couldn’t make out.

All the areas she could see were splashed in soothing earth tones. The aesthetics of Evan’s house translated to an overwhelming message to come on in, take a seat, relax, stay.

Well, everything except the loud music booming from upstairs. Claire pointed toward the steps. “When did you get into show tunes?”

Evan barked out a laugh. “Not me. No. That’s Laura. My sister. Do you remember her?”

“She was little.” Claire held her hand at waist height. “When I...when I was last around.”